


Into the Shadow

by Darkknightsrevenge



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn has a lot of conflict, Boromir's wife, OC elf lady, adding sexual tension to the fellowship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkknightsrevenge/pseuds/Darkknightsrevenge
Summary: Fate sends the Lady Beriadanwen of Gondor, the childhood friend of Aragorn, to the fellowship in time of need. Old memories and feelings are dredged up despite her husband's involvement with the fellowship. Can Aragorn realize his repressed feelings and see beyond his close friend's usefulness to the mission?
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

They were a day from Weathertop when the hobbits noticed their guide, Strider, acting oddly. He began casting furtive glances over his shoulder, pushing them later into the night and rising earlier than anyone liked.

"Strider, what ails you?" Frodo asked quietly at their next break.

"Something follows. And quickly." The dark Ranger replied. "I can tell neither friend nor foe. Best get to high ground and see for ourselves. Now pack up, we must get moving to reach Weathertop by nightfall."

"He thinks something is following us, Sam..." Frodo whispered to his companion as they rolled the cloaks they'd been sitting on.

"Something other than those black riders?" Sam asked.

"Yes. And moving quickly." Frodo replied.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo. I hope not. We can't afford to have more foes, I reckon." Sam said.

"Frodo, did I hear you say what ails our mysterious friend?" Merry had packed his bag and run to catch up with them.

"He reckons we're being followed." Frodo replied.

"I don't like the sound of that. We best get moving." Pippin nodded in agreement. The four hobbits shouldered their packs and picked up their pace. The skies overhead rumbled, and a thin mist began to set in.

Frodo cast a furtive glance over his shoulder as they crested a hill. He noticed Strider do the same. Frodo didn't see anything out in the brush, but Strider's sharp eyes must have picked up movement because he set his lips in a hard line and herded them onwards.

Weathertop's craggy stone outline became apparent on the horizon some hours later. The hobbits let out a collective sigh of relief. After only a short walk through a patch of thick brush, they were ascending the lower levels of the abandoned rock fortress just as darkness fell. Strider located a small cave and directed them tie the pony there.

"We camp here tonight. If the riders make an attack we will be-" Strider's voice trailed off and he stared sharply in the direction they'd just come. Frodo noticed Sam holding his breath. Strider's hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, partially hidden under his cloak.

"Mae govannen, mellon." A soft voice came from the thick brush they'd just walked through. Strider swore and let his sword hand rest. A woman materialized out of the heather.

"Mae govannen." Strider said, offering her his arm to grasp in greeting. She was dressed head to toe in black, her hood covering her hair and part of her face. Bright eyes peered out of the darkness.

"I've been traveling hard to reach you in time. You need another sword in the fight to come." She said. Her voice was smooth. She flicked her hood back to reveal long red tresses bound at the nape of her neck and pointed ears.

"I-is this who was following us?" Sam's meek voice ventured.

"Aye, Master Hobbits. This is the Lady Beriadanwen of Gondor. She will be our guide to Rivendell."

A piercing shriek echoed around the plains.

"If we can survive the night." Beriadanwen said. "Let us hasten to the top, they will know we are here."

"Gondor's not an elf town." Sam hissed in Frodo's ear.

"Marriage, Sam." Frodo replied.

"A real elf, Mr. Frodo!"

"Gerroff, Sam. You'll see all the elves you want soon."

The hobbits ascended the stairs first, followed by strider and Lady Bariadanwen. Only Frodo noticed out of the corner of his eye when the lady swayed on her feet and leaned heavily on the stone door frame. Strider took her elbow and pulled her up the spiral stair.

"You are injured." He growled.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time in Bree. I will recover." She replied, her face still calm and collected. She pressed a hand to her ribs, which came back sticky with blood.

"You are no good to us half dead on your feet." Strider hissed.

"I think you'll find I have some fight left, My Lord." Beriadanwen replied, ignoring Strider's stiff expression at the title. "Besides, if all goes according to plan, Lord Elrond's reinforcements will arrive this night."

"Hopefully before they do." Strider nodded over the battlements at the dark forms writhing at the base of the tower. The black riders were waiting for full dark, then they would most certainly attack.

"Master hobbits, if you will, please busy yourselves making the biggest bonfire you can. Use anything you find." Strider barked.

The hobbits sprung into action, shepherded by Sam, who was a connoisseur of bonfires, having led Old Gaffer's midsummer's eve bonfire for nearly 6 seasons now. Frodo watched Strider and the Lady Beriadanwen interact, then bent his head to the task. Strider was pulling what meager medical supplies he had out of his pack.

"Is the wound infected?" He asked. Beriadanwen shook her head. She unraveled part of her tunic to reveal soiled bandages, which Strider set to work tearing off with his knife.

"It has been some time." He said, his face impassive.

"It has." Their eyes met as he applied the fresh bandages to her ribs. The cut was shallow, but had been reopened by days of fast travel.

"Your husband is well?" Strider asked.

"Yes... So I believe. He will be joining us in Rivendell. This will be our first I've laid eyes on him in some time as well."

"Probably whoring up and down the riv-" Strider spat.

"Peace." Beriadanwen commanded. Strider finished tying the bandages and stepped back, obviously agitated.

"Peace." He finally said. Another screech from the assembled ringwraiths sounded from below, stifling whatever had been at the tip of his tongue. He quickly turned away to clean up his pack and see to the Hobbits.

"Good, Sam. Build up the sides a bit more. We will need it." Beriadanwen listened to Strider's low voice commanding the hobbits. She sighed and righted her tunic before pulling her cloak tightly around her and letting her dark eyes fall shut while she had the time. She had gone too long without rest.

In the darkness between worlds, she wandered. It was peaceful, letting her mind rest. If she was lucky, a vision would visit her. One of the gifts the Valar had bestowed on her was The Sight. Not as pronounced as the Lord Elrond or Lady Galadriel, but enough to give her foresight into the beyond.

An image materialized in front of her, murky and undefined. She waited. The image sharpened.

She saw a band of men crossing the plains - not only men, but a dwarf and an elf as well. And Hobbits. Nine in total. With a mission, something dark - the scene began to change -

"Anwen." A soft voice ruptured the vision and pulled her from the darkness. She awoke, blinking in the light of the bonfire. Strider was silhouetted against the flames.

"They come. Ready yourself." He said, touching her arm and moving off. Beriadanwen moved to her feet and drew her sword, inspecting it. Her vision still weighed heavily on her mind.

"They come soon." Aragorn said, this time to the Hobbits. He moved away. Beriadanwen took a few deep breaths, then stood and drew her sword. Strider drew his as well, and they closed ranks around the Hobbits. The shrieking of the wraiths was drawing nearer. Beriadanwen closed her eyes and stilled her mind, drawing back to the last time her and Strider had been back to back in battle.

"Hold the West side!" Strider shouted, swiping a hand through the gore and grime coating his face. Beriadanwen shouldered her longbow and vaulted over a low wall, drawing her sword as she went. She'd taken down five orcs in as many paces when she was grabbed from behind by a familiar hand.

"Fucking stay here, woman. I'll give the call to the men. You follow when it's safer." Her husband said, hauling her back behind him. He was covered head to toe in blood and spat some in her face as he bellowed at her in his harsh, Gondorian accent. She threw his hand off and put her sword in another three orcs as he disappeared, her rage fueling her swordsmanship.

"Anwen!" Strider's voice came from the battlement nearby. "Help hold the line!" He was becoming overwhelmed. Not far off, she could see her husband back to back with the captain of his guard, 20 men at their heels. The line was holding fine.

"Annie, get over here!" Her husband bellowed. She rolled her eyes at him and sheathed her sword, scaling the ramparts to aid Strider. At the top of the battlement, she rolled across the flagstones and emerged at his side, sword drawn. After a lengthy fight, they had cleaned up the battlement and were staring at each other, panting.

"You disobeyed direct orders from both your captains." Strider panted. Beriadanwen reached out and touched a slice across his arm. He flinched, but the wound wasn't threatening.

"You would have been lost had I not." Their eyes met, and the glance held.

"You..." Strider faltered.

"Annie, we're leaving." Boromir's cold voice cut through the air. Beriadanwen and Strider stepped apart, tension hanging heavy in the air.

"Surely the settlement could-" She was interrupted by his hand.

"We have received new orders. My father requires my presence. Ready our things." He said coldly. She nodded and moved away, painfully aware that this was the only goodbye her and Strider would have.

"You look at my wife the wrong way again, ranger, I will cut you down where you stand." He said, shaking his red hair out of his face and turning away. Strider watched him through an even stare, waiting until Boromir had disappeared around a rampart before he wiped the blood his captain had sprayed in his face. Beriadanwen shot a quick glance over her shoulder to meet his eyes. That was the last they'd seen of each other in over two years.

"Did you hear me?" Aragorn's voice hissing in her ear brought her out of her memory.

"Protect the little ones while you fight them at the front." She replied. Strider nodded, but held her in his bright blue gaze.

"Are you sure you're all right?" He asked. She gave him a curt nod, then over his shoulder she saw the first wraith sweep over the edge of the tower. Aragorn whirled and was gone. She pressed back to the Hobbits, keeping the fire at their backs and her sword at their fronts.

"Lady Beriadanwen, are we going to die?" Sam asked. "There are so many of them."

"No, Sam. We will prevail." She said, gritting her teeth against the stinging in her side as she hefted her sword and met a wraith of her own as it came sliding over the left battlement.

At first, it looked as though they would win the battle. Aragorn had run off two of the wraiths and Beriadanwen had felled two herself, which left five to be reckoned with. No sign of the witch-king, which worried her.

Then the slip came. Beriadanwen faltered in her footing and one of the morgul blades bit deep into the shoulder of her sword arm, causing blood to rain on the stone at her feet and her sword to fall from her numb fingers.

"A-Aragorn..." She gasped. Her arm was completely cold. She backed up to where the Hobbits still huddled, pushing back fear as the shadows crept closer.

"Milady..." Sam said, pressing a scrap of his cloak to her shoulder. The other Hobbits raised their short swords and makeshift weapons, prepared to avenge themselves on her attacker.

Then, Frodo disappeared. She didn't even see him scuttle away. He just vanished. The wraiths screamed and looked around wildly.

"Frodo!" Strider's scream came from the stairway as he charged up it, sword and torch raised. Beriadanwen followed his gaze and saw Him. The witch king was standing over a rocky hole just big enough for a Hobbit to hide in. Then he raised his blade and stabbed down.

Strider charged the witch-king, setting him aflame. The witch-king screamed and dove off weathertop, setting two other wraiths afire as he went. Within second, Weathertop was deserted.

Frodo reappeared suddenly, right where the witch-king had stabbed. Beriadanwen rushed to his side, cradling her useless arm.

"Frodo?" Strider asked, echoed by the Hobbits. He ripped Frodo's shirt open to see a black stab wound just above his heart.

"We must... get him to Rivendell." Beriadanwen panted. She could feel the darkness in her own wound.

"You're hurt." Strider said, taking her arm in his strong hands. Her cloak was already stained through with dark blood.

"Lord Elrond should have sent reinforcements by now... If we can make the river, they will be there." She said, ignoring him probing her arm.

"The first river is a day's travel away. We only have the pony. Frodo will be lucky to make it." Strider hissed. "And so will you."

"We have to try. Leave whatever baggage you can, divide the rest. Put Frodo on the pony, I will walk." She replied.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked quietly.

"Not if we can help it. Take Merry and find the Pony. The morning is not far off." Strider said. Pippin grabbed Merry and scuttled away to the cave where they'd hidden Bill Ferny's pony.

"Sam, come here." Strider beckoned. The Hobbit obeyed. "Do you know the Athelas plant?" Sam looked at him blankly. "Kingsfoil."

"Kingsfoil, aye, that's a weed." Sam replied.

"You have a quarter hour to search the heather for it. As much as possible. Be swift." The Hobbit nodded and disappeared. When he turned back to Beriadanwen, she caught a glimpse of hard concern in his eyes.

"Peace." She said tiredly, echoing earlier. It was their phrase to calm each other's upsets, had been since their childhood.

"Peace." He replied, almost too quiet to hear. Pippin called out from the base of the stairs that they were ready. A second later, Sam shouted victory. Strider bundled Frodo's limp form in his own cloak and proceeded to the stairs. Beriadanwen pulled herself to her feet to follow, pushing away exhaustion and nausea.


	2. Chapter 2

They were hard pressed to reach the river. Each quarter hour brought another line of exhaustion and concern to the faces of the small band. Frodo hadn't stirred since Strider had applied the Athelas leaves and put him on the pony, merely stared straight ahead and ground his teeth against the darkness and pain worming its way to his heart.

Lady Beriadanwen hadn't spoken either, focusing all her energy on keeping moving forwards. Her entire left side was cold and numb, making it hard to breathe. She had ignored Aragorn's furtive looks over his shoulder at her, merely pushing onwards.

A shadow was growing behind them. As the skies overhead darkened and swelled with oncoming rain, the wraiths were regrouping and riding fast.

"We must push faster." Strider said, barely audible above the rolling thunder. The rain would reach them soon. Sam nodded and coaxed Bill Ferny's pony on, offering it a bit of swamp grass as a reward. The pony was more than happy to oblige, but it did little to aid their pace.

Finding the road some time later gave them all little comfort, but made the going easier. Beriadanwen could feel the relief in the soles of her boots, but it was masked by the growing pain in her arm.

"Frodo, are you well?" Pippin's thin voice was the loudest thing heard on the plains, but then was completely eclipsed by a massive clap of thunder that startled all of them. Everyone's focus went to the ring-bearer, who was slumped in the saddle, eyes closed.

A screech rang out through the rain, echoing across the now drenched heather. Frodo gasped as a bolt of pain arced through his body in reply. Lady Beriadanwen moaned as her wound's pain echoed Frodo's, her knees weakening but not faltering. She waved Strider's worried look away, forcing her feet to keep moving.

Then, another sound came lightly on the breeze towards them; the sound of bells. And not just any bells.

"Praise the Valar." Beriadanwen breathed. It had been many moons since she heard the tinkle of elven bridle-bells, but there was no mistaking the sound.

"Mae govannen!" Strider called through the brush to their left. The bells grew louder and the lithe form of an elven rider appeared over a near rise. The group let out a collective sigh.

"What news?" Strider asked, coming forwards to take the arm of the rider once he dismounted. They began to speak in hushed tones. Sam took the opportunity to pass out a small snack to all the gathered Hobbits, pressing particularly hard on Frodo, who had regained a sort of dazed consciousness. Beriadanwen walked to the men, listening to the conversation.

"My Lady." The elf, recognizable as her third cousin Glorfindel, murmured to her as she settled at Strider's right. His eyes clouded with concern, he could sense the darkness brewing in her injuries, but he did not pause in conversation long.

"I was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road."

"We have been met with trouble." Strider replied. Glorfindel nodded.

"Elrond received news that troubled him. Some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin, learned that things were amiss, and sent messages as swiftly as they could. They said that the Nine were abroad, and that you were astray bearing a great burden without guidance, we were sent immediately to search for and retrieve you."

"Has Gandalf reached Rivendell?' asked Frodo from the saddle. His voice was weak.

"No. He had not when I departed; but that was nine days ago." answered Glorfindel uneasily.

Frodo felt a great weariness come over him, and slumped back, waving away Sam's attempts to coax him to food. The sun was beginning to sink since the sun and the mist before his eyes was darkening. He could tell from the slump of Beriadanwen's shoulders that she felt the shadow as well. Now and then pain assailed him, but mostly he felt cold.

"My master is sick and wounded," said Sam angrily, addressing the men and woman. "Shouldn't we rest or get on?"

Glorfindel broke away from the group and approached Frodo, lifting him off the pony and laying him down on the ground as if he weighed nothing. His nimble fingers probed the wound. Frodo felt the chill lessen ever so slightly at the warmth in Glorfindel's fingers. The pain became easier.

"You shall ride my horse," said Glorfindel as he stood. "I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle-skins, and you must sit as tight as you can. But you need not fear: my horse will not let any rider fall that I command him to bear. His pace is light and smooth; and if danger presses too near, he will bear you away with a speed that even the black steeds of the enemy cannot rival."

"But my friends!" Frodo protested.

Glorfindel smiled indulgently. "I doubt very much," he said, "if your friends would be in danger if you were not with them! The pursuit would follow you and leave us in peace, I think. We will keep pace behind."

Frodo gave no other protest, and he was persuaded to mount Glorfindel's white horse. The pony was laden instead with a great part of the others' burdens, so that they now marched lighter, and for a time made good speed; but the hobbits began to find it hard to keep up with the swift tireless feet of the unweary Elf. On he led them, into the mouth of darkness, and still on under the deep clouded night. There was neither star nor moon. Not until the grey of dawn did he allow them to halt. Pippin, Merry, and Sam were by that time nearly asleep on their stumbling legs; and even Strider seemed by the sag of his shoulders to be weary.

Frodo sat upon the horse in a dark dream and Beriadanwen walked alongside, holding onto the packstrap so that the white horse could take some of her weight as well. She felt the exhaustion of her wound acutely.

They travelled through the night, not wanting the black riders to gain any more time on them in the shadows. When the sun broke over the distant mountains, they laid down on the side of the road and took a quick, dreamless rest.

While resting, Beriadanwen let her mind wander once more. Her vision from Weathertop revisited her, but through a veiled eye. The wound's darkness was taking a toll on her mind. She saw again the group of nine, traveling a long road. On the horizon, darkness and turmoil. The group disappeared, and the darkness grew deeper. She was caught, black smoke cloying her nostrils and dragging her down, choking-

"Anwen." She was roughly shaken awake. Her eyes opened, but the black veil did not lift. Strider's face swam in front of her eyes.

"Thank the Valar you are still with us." Glorfindel said, kneeling next to Strider. He rested his hands on her shoulder, alleviating the black numbness for a short time.

"Thank you, cousin." Beriadanwen said, her voice weak. She looked at Aragorn, who was clearly discomforted at her peril.

"Peace." She said. He set his lips in a tight line, then turned and accepted some bread from Sam, pressing it on her. Beriadanwen ate, though she did not taste the bread whatsoever. She wiped her forehead, which was still damp with the rain and cold. Thunder rolled, not as close now as it had been before.

"We must ride. I think it best you join Frodo on the horse." Glorfindel said, his eyes casting the way they came, at the shadow that was lurking on the road behind them. Beriadanwen did not protest, merely pulled herself up on the seemingly tireless horse behind Frodo, letting her mind drift from there.

They set off at a quick pace. The road began to slope downhill, but that meant only that the enemy could catch up the quicker. And catch up they did, just as the sun began to go down. Glorfindel heard them first, his hearing much more acute to that of the others. He heard an echo of hoofbeats on the road behind, barely perceptible to the ears of the hobbits.

"Hobbits, to the trees! Frodo, ride! The enemy is upon us!" He cried, unsheathing his sword and turning to face the way they came. Hoofbeats pounded louder. Frodo froze, reluctant to leave. Beriadanwen slapped the horse on the rump and it dove forwards. The last thing she saw was Aragorn's hand reaching out for them and three pairs of terrified Hobbit eyes before they were around the bend and the wind took them.

Strider had only a moment to brace himself before the black riders surged around them. So great was their haste and desire for Frodo that they paid no notice to the two men in the middle of the road.

"We must to the ford!" Glorfindel yelled, taking off. Strider beckoned to the Hobbits, vowing to keep pace with their much shorter legs. He knew that Glorfindel would do all in his power to protect Frodo and the Lady, half-dead though they were from their wounds.

Water pooling around Frodo's feet awoke him to the fact that they were crossing the deep ford of the river. He also noticed that he was now alone on the horse. Frodo tried to look around for Beriadanwen in vain, his head and limbs would not move of his own volition, such was his fatigue and pain. But he could sense the presence of the riders on the far bank.

The horse finished pushing across the ford and wheeled, turning and neighing defiance to the black riders' mounts. They chaffed and bit back, stamping on the bank. They could not touch the water.

"Go back!" Frodo cried, barely finding his voice. "Go back to the Land of Mordor, and follow me no more!" His voice sounded thin and shrill in his own ears.

The Riders halted, but only long enough to laugh.

"The Ring! The Ring!" they cried with deadly voices; more screeching and screaming than words at all. Their terrible and familiar leader urged his horse forward into the water, followed closely by two others.

At that moment there came a roaring and a rushing: a noise of loud waters rolling many stones. Dimly Frodo saw the river below him rise, and down along its course there came a plumed cavalry of waves. White flames seemed to Frodo to flicker on their crests and he half fancied that he saw amid the water white riders upon white horses with frothing manes. The wraiths on the shore disappeared, buried suddenly under angry foam. With his last failing senses Frodo heard cries, and it seemed to him that he saw, beyond the Riders that hesitated on the shore, a shining figure of white light; and behind it ran small shadowy forms waving flames, that flared red in the grey mist that was falling over the world. Then Frodo felt himself falling, and the roaring and confusion seemed to rise and engulf him together with his enemies. He heard and saw no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Beriadanwen's eyes opened to the dappled sunshine of Rivendell playing across the vaulted ceiling. Her shoulder and side ached from her wounds, but she could sense that the darkness had retreated from them.

"You're awake." Aragorn's familiar voice rumbled from the bedside.

"It would seem that I am." She replied, her dry throat making her voice crack. Aragorn picked up a cup from the bedside table and held it to her lips. The cold water made her drink eagerly.

"At first I had thought you had made it over the river with Frodo, but then we discovered Frodo alone. We feared the worst, but Glorfindel found your body in the trees. It's a miracle you survived. Elrond said your injuries were numerous."

"Thank the Valar you looked for me. I don't even remember falling off the horse."

"Anwen..."

"I am fine, Aragorn." She leveled her dark eyes at him. "Peace."

"Peace." Aragorn said uncomfortably after a moment. "How do you feel?"

"I have felt better, but no longer feel the darkness of the Morgul blade in my wounds." She replied. "What has transpired since I've been asleep?"

"The emissaries of men, elves, and dwarves are set to arrive tomorrow. Gandalf and Elrond have called them together to decide what to do with the Ring."

"The Ring? So it's true, it was in the Shire all along."

"Apparently Frodo's uncle found it in the Lonely Mountain all those years ago."

"I heard tell of the Battle of Five Armies, but never suspected..."

"No one did. That's why it's been safe all these years, until Bilbo finally snapped and used it."

"Damn."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the outside sounds of birdsong and far-off singing.

"I trust you've visited Lady Arwen?" Beriadanwen asked.

"Yes. She is well. It has been some time."

"Does she still hold a candle for you?" Anwen teased. "She was insufferable the last time we were all together."

"She has made her feelings known." Aragorn flushed slightly. "And you? What do you think of your husband being in Rivendell again?"

"Speaking of insufferable..." Anwen laughed. Aragorn allowed himself a chuckle as well.

"I have not laid eyes on my husband in over a year. We parted ways to take care of business for our respective lands. We've written each other minimally."

"For the life of me, I will never understand your union." Aragorn admitted. "Does that old fool Denethor not realize you'll outlive his entire bloodline and then some?"

"Apparently not, though half-elves outlive mortals twice over. I think he was leaning on my dying in childbirth for some time, and perhaps now has just given up on my ever returning to Gondor, biding his time until our political alliance has something in it for himself or the house of the stewards forgets about me."

"You were in love with Boromir once." Aragorn said, trying to shift the mood. "He was a striking fellow in his youth."

"Aye, I was. I am. We shall see how he takes the news of the Ring. I cannot help but think he will try to persuade Elrond to use it as a weapon."

A knock sounded at the doorway, where the silhouette of Gandalf in his pointed wizard's hat stood.

"We were worried." The old wizard said.

"I was worried about you, Gandalf. Your message from the moth hardly gave any insight into how you yourself fared."

"I was waylaid." Gandalf said, settling into a chair next to Aragorn. "Saruman the white has shown his true colors."

"That could be problematic." Anwen said. "Isengard is positioned to move on practically any kingdom."

"Exactly." Gandalf took out his pipe and began to pack it with sweetleaf. "Saruman has hardly shown his hand to me, but it was clear he is planning something large. We should be prepared for him to be a key player in this war."

"This situation grows more convoluted by the day." Aragorn mused, accepting an offering of sweetleaf from Gandalf for his own pipe.

"I feel like I should do something to help, not sit in bed all day." Anwen grumbled.

"All any of us can do is sit and wait." Gandalf reasoned. "We must decide what is to be done at the Council tomorrow."

The three sat in silence as the sun rose in the sky, pipe smoke drifting pleasantly around them.

Later, after she had finished the supper brought to her room, Anwen decided on a short walk to relieve the soreness in her legs. She dressed in the lilac robes left out for her and padded barefoot outside. Fall had fully hit Rivendell, spreading its majesty over the twilit trees. Auburn leaves danced through the air, accompanied by elven song and the scent of fresh water.

Anwen's feet carried her down a familiar path to the spacious gardens and out into the trees, meaning to circle around the waterfall and return to her room. She was halfway up the road to the waterfall when she noticed the path already occupied by two figures, easily recognizable. She turned to retreat back the way she came. It was a beautiful night to celebrate love, why should Arwen and Aragorn be exempt?

Besides, with her husband returning to her on the morrow Anwen would hardly be alone for much longer. She shivered in anticipation of having a man's close presence for the first time in many moons. Absence did make the heart grow fonder, at least in the case of her and Boromir. They could part ways spitting oaths and him threatening blows, but when they returned to one another he would be the man she married once more. It was all a matter of spending the right amount of time in each other's presence.

"Charming night." A voice at her elbow remarked. Sam had fallen into step next to her.

"Indeed, Master Hobbit." Anwen replied.

"Good seein' you on the mend, Milady." Sam said warmly. "You scared us good back at that river."

"I am grateful for your concern. I have seen better fights, but the Valar have always kept me safe."

"All this business with that ring has me in fits. I can't sleep, I can barely eat..."

"For a Hobbit, that must be very concerning." Anwen teased. Same flushed. "But I know how you feel. Something is brewing in Middle Earth, and I fear we are caught at its center."

"I miss the Shire. A month is too long to be away from home. I don't know how Master Bilbo managed to pick right up and leave to live out his days here. It doesn't seem right."

"Bilbo is here?" Anwen asked. She hadn't heard of his arrival.

"Oh, sure. Mister Frodo is up with him now. I left to give 'em some space."

They'd arrived back at Anwen's room, which was beckoning her to the bed's sweet embrace.

"You are a good friend, Sam. Frodo is going to need you through the next few days. Don't leave his side." Anwen said gently, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Aye, Milady. I reckon you need your rest. Don't hesitate to call if you need us." Sam replied.

"Goodnight, Sam."

Anwen looked out on Rivendell's quiet scenery as Sam shuffled away. There was a growing sense of unease within her, but until she learned more from tomorrow's council, she could hardly give herself any comfort.

The morning dawned clean and fresh with the sound of elven trumpets signaling the arrival of guests. Anwen arose from her bed feeling unrested, but anticipating the arrival of her husband and the other delegates. She was curious who Elrond had invited to this secret council.

In the night a gown of lilac silk had been laid beside her robes, accompanied by silver hair ornaments and the Gondorian necklace that went with her affects and some silk slippers. Her bloodied clothes had been burned, but her sword, necklace, horn, dagger, and thin knives had been settled on the dressing table after being polished and sharpened. She would move from the infirmary room into the permanent quarters she maintained at Rivendell, which would be shared by her husband during his visit. Anwen quickly dressed and ornamented her long russet curls before joining the throng of elves heading for the entrance path to look at their new visitors.

"You look well, cousin. Glorfindel said as they fell into step next to each other. She bowed her head to him.

"Without your guidance I fear I would have been lost. The Valar guide you well."

Up ahead, the snorts of horses were just beginning to be heard around the bend. A band of elven riders trotted into view, clad all in green. Anwen recognized their crown prince Legolas at the head of the group, two of his brothers following rank behind.

"Mirkwood Elves." Glorfindel said, slightly aghast. A resounding mutter rippled through the assembled elven folk. A shadow had been growing in Mirkwood for years, King Thranduil all but disappearing into the gloom.

"Do you think we will also see our Lady Galadriel's people here?" Anwen asked. Glorfindel shook his head.

"Our lady is in contact with Elrond, but will make no appearance."

A group of ponies appeared on the path, carrying several Dwarves bearing the crest of Erebor. That too was interesting. The Dwarves of the North had long had other matters to tend to, keeping out of world affairs.

Glorfindel was saying something to her, but Anwen hardly listened as a familiar brown steed appeared on the path, bringing with it an auburn-haired man in Gondorian dress. She brushed through the ranks of elves and gracefully moved to greet her husband.

"And there's my beautiful wife, looking for the world the same as the day I married her." Boromir chuckled, sliding down from his mount. Though the lines around his eyes had deepened, he still looked the same.

"Welcome, husband. It has been some time." Anwen said, allowing herself to be swept up in his strong embrace. He planted a firm kiss on her lips, smelling like fire smoke and Gondorian pipe weed.

"You feel good, woman. I have missed your embrace." Boromir sighed into her hair.

"May I take your horse, Milord?" A younger elf asked, offering to take the bridle from Boromir's hand. He relinquished his steed, only pausing to take his saddlebag off the mount.

"Where are your quarters?" Boromir asked her. "I assume we haven't regressed so far as to seek separate accommodations."

"Don't be a fool." Anwen said. "We will have our usual room."

She led him through the throngs of elves, not missing the way he mistrustfully eyed them. As they fell into step in the halls of Rivendell's main building, he put a protective arm at her hip. His warmth felt nice, but could only be short lived, the way he was subtly looking around.

"You haven't been sleeping well." Anwen said when they reached their room.

"You don't know that." Boromir snorted, tossing his saddlebag at the foot of the bed and stretching out over the covers.

"Of course I do." Anwen snapped back, moving to his feet to pull off his boots. "Even a year's distance doesn't change that I know you. I know how you get when you aren't able to rest."

"All right, all right. You always seem to know. I have been plagued by dreams as of late. Faramir too."

Anwen finished unlacing and pulling off his boots, continuing with his stockings before moving to his shin guards.

"A voice came to me and said to seek for the sword that was broken, it's here in Imladris. There's going to be a council taken that's stronger than Morgul-spells and Isildur's bane shall waken. Something of that sort- What is it?"

Anwen had paused, hands clutching his shin guards.

"You know of what I speak?" Boromir asked, sitting up and taking her hands, tossing the guards aside.

"There is a broken sword here in Imladris." Anwen said carefully. "And there will be a council tonight after supper."

"Where is it? I must see it." Boromir said, gripping her hands tightly.

"Peace. It's been here since the War of the Last Alliance. It's hardly going anywhere now. It must be reforged by the elves that created it at the behest of the true heir to the throne."

"The throne of Gondor?" Boromir asked, pulling Anwen onto his lap. "There is no heir. I am the next in line for the throne."

"You are next in line to be the Steward of the throne. That is not the same as sitting on it." Anwen warned as Boromir began to kiss her neck.

"And who is going to stop me?" Boromir asked, rolling on top of her and continuing his ministrations. "The true heir is long dead."

Anwen bit her tongue and captured her husband's lips in hers. He had clearly not been informed of Aragorn's continued involvement with the ring's fate, and to tell him now would just unnecessarily provoke his temper. Better she allow him to use her as a distraction and relieve the ache between her thighs. More would be revealed at the council.


End file.
